Still
by nerdyghostclub
Summary: Oliver reflects on death. Spoilers through end of the first series and His Reality.


The Ebisu was destroyed, and the only words spoken between the group since were Oliver's own casual "let's go." He found himself trailing behind the others on their trek back up the cliff, trying not to dwell on their shocked stares and what that meant for him now. Lin would be disappointed, certainly. If he weren't preoccupied with helping Takigawa, he would no doubt be chastising Noll at this very moment. He was too exhausted to deal with that right now, and quickly growing further more tired. Before he realized, he couldn't move his legs.

Dying was nothing new for Oliver Davis, and as his vision faded, he thought it only proper that the experience might finally leave a lasting result. Where was the fairness in him living through countless deaths, while his brother could not survive one accident? It was his mistake after all, allowing himself to be so affected by Mai's words, choosing to use his PK. He brought most of his own suffering on, touching things he shouldn't, and now this, but Gene was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd been stupid, irresponsible, and childish, and then his legs gave out, and he welcomed the blackness.

* * *

The task was simple; he was just to borrow a shirt. Gene was away on an exorcism request, so he wasn't there to protest, not that the issue would even exist if he were. Oliver sighed. He wasn't used to picking out his own clothes to wear as his brother had always done that for him, and the chore was a lot more difficult to him than one would expect for a fifteen year old boy. For this reason, while Eugene was gone, he had been trying to stick with only neutral colors. He couldn't be bothered with worrying about matching, but if he put zero effort in his mother would only make a fuss later, so here he was. He'd run out of clean laundry, and decided to just wear something of his brother's.

Entering Gene's room he half-expected to be greeted with the usual noise and excitement his brother was always expressing, but of course it was silent. He made his way across the room to the closet. Stepping inside he reached his hand out to feel the material of one of the few shirts his brother bothered to hang up instead of rolling in a ball and tossing it with everything else in the bottom of his dresser.

Things couldn't be so simple though, and the moment his fingers brushed the fabric of the sleeve he was thrown. He wasn't in the room anymore, he wasn't home at all. He was falling, plummeting downwards, but the ground must have been falling faster above him because the next thing he knew he was standing upright, walking on a road. It was late afternoon. He could see a mountain, then almost immediately, there was the sound of a car from behind. Turning around, there was something wrong. The vehicle was going too fast and while turning the corner, it skid to the side of the road where he'd been walking. There was no time to react, the car made impact, and he collapsed. Lying on the asphalt, he heard the sound of a door, footsteps, a scream, and the car starting up again, approaching fast. The second impact came, and the pain of it left with a green burst. The body died, but it wasn't his. He was just a visitor in another's conscious.

 _Gene…_

Whether he was unable to break out of the vision or he chose to remain for the rest of it is something he'd never admit to. Either option shows a weakness in his self-control, but remain he did, to see the body carried away, wrapped up and disposed of in a lake.

He only found himself back in his body once his mother had gone looking to see if he'd slept in, and noticed him crumpled up on the floor of Gene's room instead, shirt sleeve clenched in his fist. She'd panicked of course, and screamed for Martin. They both sat on the floor with their son. When he finally came to, Luella's arms were around him. She was wiping the dried tears from his face. Noticing him awake, his parents immediately asked if he was alright, but he couldn't speak just yet. He sat up, frozen for a bit, eyes unfocused, before starting to heave. A wet towel brushed against his face. They only communicated like this, silent.

He could feel bruises forming on his abdomen, and his head was pounding. He tried to refuse, but eventually accepted help walking back to his bed. He wasn't sure he'd ever want to leave. If he slept on he could pretend what just happened was a simple nightmare. His brother- he turned over to retch again in the waste basket beside his bed. He was sweating now too. This was something he had to tell Martin and Luella, _but how?_ He couldn't even form words at this point, much less put together an entire cohesive sentence to explain what he'd just been witness to.

Eventually though, he managed. They didn't want to believe it at first, and that was almost easy, with psychometry not being something proven to exist. It was a choice, in believing their one son or believing that their other might be alive. They slowly, slowly began to accept it, while still trying to hold out hope, but it was hard. One day at breakfast, in a daze, Martin asked aloud "what are we supposed to do with his things," and his remaining son snapped back. "I don't care, just keep them away from me." Luella may have sounded harsh, but his bruises still hadn't healed. The sync was strong, too strong. They could have lost two sons that day, and who would want to go through that feeling again?

When he eventually arrived in Japan, his fingers would hover over Gene's belongings. He needed a hint, a direction, but he couldn't bring himself to look. He figured it was fine. He wasn't missed back home, and there were only so many lakes in Japan. He knew how to keep himself funded. He'd find him eventually, he was sure.

* * *

"Do you know how it feels to die," his assistant had asked.

"Do you know how it feels to die?"

Those eight words carried such unexpected weight.

Oliver knew how it felt to die; he knew that feeling much more intimately than Mai could even imagine. She had woken up before the blade had crossed her neck in full, avoided the slow agony of exsanguination. He hadn't been so lucky, and a part of him wanted to yell this at her, exhausted by all her assumptions about him, her naivety surrounding everything. For a latent psychic with such strong intuition, she could be so wrong about so many things.

He bit his tongue. It wouldn't work as well, but Lin could handle the task in Masako's place. She didn't need to share in the visions he and Mai had experienced. They didn't need to put her through that.

* * *

Every moment he spent alive, he wished he could give back to his brother. They were both loved, but Gene was the one who loved back. Oliver, on the other hand, felt nothing. He wouldn't cry with his parents, and while he'd let them hug him, Martin and Luella knew their son too well to be fooled into believing their embrace was where he wanted to be. They might as well have been left childless.

The moment the idea of him traveling to Japan surfaced, Oliver latched onto it. He wanted to search for his brother, not for any noble or sentimental purpose, but because it was all he could do. He couldn't comfort his parents, and he could barely handle the heavy air of their home. His parents might have been worried about how he was coping with Eugene's death himself, but it would only break them to know that it wasn't at all what had affected him. Seeing their sunken faces though, day after day, plagued him with guilt.

It should have been him, but it wasn't. The only thing he could do now was run, run from his family's suffocating silence, something he never knew could bother him so, run away to Japan, and try to locate their other son. He didn't belong there, not now.

* * *

"Why won't you just cry?"

"Unfortunately, I'm a stupid person who has no feelings."

 _I wish I weren't like this, too._

* * *

Oliver was as much a ghost as his twin was. He did not belong amongst the living. He couldn't relate to their energy, it was like all his senses had gone numb. It was the sheer contrast, between how he was handling things and how Gene would be doing in his place, that made him feel so inadequate. The phantom was still living, while the boy who had been full of life was now but a spirit. It wasn't fair for either of them. It wasn't fair to the people around them. People thought so much of Oliver that he just couldn't deliver on. If Gene were there, it'd be fine. They'd just flock to him, and Oliver would remain living comfortably in his shadow.

Did he only wish his brother alive for selfish reasons like this? Maybe that's just the way he was.

* * *

If it had been Oliver, someone would inevitably had said, "an early death suited him."

Gene would have mourned with his parents, and they all would have moved on.

They'd be better off, even if that's not something they'd ever admit to themselves.

 _Right?_

* * *

The twins' childhood hadn't really scarred them much; they'd hated their parents and felt nothing for them once they were gone. Still, it seemed as though Oliver had never moved on from that day they'd found their mother dead at the kitchen table. He was still a confused little boy who didn't understand death. He couldn't move past that of his brother when he couldn't even process it. He couldn't feel it as deeply as he should have. The onlookers, their eyes full of pity disgusted him. He didn't deserve their condolences, their compassion. He didn't hurt enough, not in the right ways. He hadn't shed a single tear for his brother, only for the pain.

He'd ruminate on his seemingly sedated emotions. He knew, logic aside, that he should be shaken by this. He wasn't even trying to keep his feelings in check as usual. They just weren't there. He'd replay it all in his head, waiting for it to finally hit him, for something to change, but nothing ever did. He just pressed repeat.

He was still standing there, clutching Gene's shirt on the closet floor.

Still trapped in that vision.

Still alone.

Still falling.

* * *

Oliver Davis had seen enough in his lifetime, he'd learned to stop looking. Most people die once in their life, and know nothing of it until that very point. He'd died more times than he could count, than he could keep track of, so he closed up. He sent back all the letters. He maybe seemed cold, distant, even to his inner group.

Once more though, he needed to dive in. Worn out already, he touched the sheet the divers had brought up. His heart was too loud. He knew better than to allow himself to feel now.

* * *

He woke up surrounded by white, beeping machines on his one side, an IV sticking out of his arm on the other.

 _Still here._

He turned over and shut his eyes once more, not ready to be lectured by Lin.


End file.
